


Not Like Me

by penumbria



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Child Abuse, F/M, Gen, HP: EWE, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Non-con BDSM, Past Child Abuse, Polyjuice Potion, Rape Aftermath, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Violence, Torture, appears under-age but isn't, canon main character deaths, canon murders, canon relationships through the Final Battle, dub-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-01
Updated: 2014-08-01
Packaged: 2018-02-11 08:27:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2061090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penumbria/pseuds/penumbria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on a prompt found on <a href="http://promptromp.blogspot.com/2009_08_01_archive.html">Prompt Romp from August of 2009</a>: What becomes of the son of Tonks and Lupin after the end of Deathly Hallows?</p>
<p>It is shortly after the final battle and Andromeda is having trouble coping in her grief and leaves Teddy with Harry. This story is definitely EWE though mostly canon through the Final Battle.</p>
<p>Written for Rough Trade 2014 Boot Camp II. All fan fiction is AU to some extent and this is no different.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Like Me

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter or the original idea behind this story, all I own is this actual story itself. There may be some brief quoting from some of the books but not much.
> 
> This work is un-beta-ed though I did edit it. Thanks to Prompt Romp for the challenge idea and to Keira Marcos and the Rough Trade writers group for the kick in the butt to take the RT challenge and write the story.

 

Harry Potter lay uneasily in his bed in the master bedroom of Number 12 Grimmauld Place. He was tossing and turning, his body twisted in the blue, silken sheets covering his compact, scarred, muscled body. The bed he lay in was a beautiful cherry four poster with royal blue hangings and lighter blue sheets, at the foot of the bed lay an unused silver toned blanket. The four posts of the bed were carved with sinuous snakes writhing up them, a sight which used to appear foreboding but in the new lightness of the house, now appeared beautiful and protective.

The house at Grimmauld Place had been transformed over the past year. Kreacher had begun working on overcoming the darkness that pervaded it from the previous owners and his own former madness before the trio had been forced to leave. He had protected it from the one who had followed them, doing his master's bidding of keeping his secrets and working against Voldemort. He had cleaned the house from top to bottom and used his magic to force the dark aura of the house to the lower basements where it would remain until his master could return and use the wards to fully disperse it. He found all of the remaining dark artifacts and cleansed what he could and dealt with the rest as he felt his master would wish.

Kreacher knew his master did not care for the fully Slytherin decorations that his former masters and mistresses had preferred and so he had toned them down, interspersing other colors into the rooms, though unable to bring himself to use red and gold together, having his own problems with Gryffindor colors. He polished the furniture and dusted the baseboards with his magic, he stripped the walls of the grime that coated them and repainted them in soothing colors. He removed his former mistresses' painting from the wall and placed it in a small room which he turned into a portrait gallery by placing all of the former Blacks' portraits there. This did not please the inhabitants of the portraits but it did make for a quieter home.

The house elf heads ended up in the lower basement room with the troll leg umbrella stand, both so infused with darkness that Kreacher could not hope to overcome it to cleanse them. The Black family Tapestry was fully restored and he renewed the magic that kept it updated, showing the new head of the family (his master Harry Potter) and his family. There were no more scorch marks on it and all those who had been blasted off were able to be seen once more.

On the whole, when Harry returned to Grimmauld Place attempting to escape the hoards of people after the Final Battle, he was unsure he had even come to the correct house. He thanked his elf and told him what a good job he had done caring for the house when its master was away. Kreacher was thrilled at the praise and blushed deeply while bowing, his nose nearly to the floor. Harry wanted the obeisance to stop but knew the elderly elf was too set in his ways and to try and change him too much more would be counterproductive. The elf was now clean, doing his job, not insulting his master or any guests, and was on the whole, a happier creature. Harry saw no point in telling Kreacher how uncomfortable he was with the bowing and scraping as it would only upset him, so he did his best to ignore it.

The night he arrived at his new home (less than 24 hours after Voldemort hit the floor of the Great Hall as a corpse) he discovered that Kreacher had set him up in a newly renovated master suite. He knew it was appropriate and tried not to think about the former occupants. He was mostly successful, due in large part to the redecoration of said suite by said elf.

Several days had passed since his arrival and the day that proceeded the night which begins our story was the memorial funeral for all of those of the Light who had perished both in the Final Battle and in the year prior. As the Savior, the Chosen One, the Man-Who-Conquered, Harry had been expected to attend. Just as he had attended all of the funerals in the three days before this final ceremony. A beautiful memorial statue was raised on the grounds on Hogwarts, a towering light gray marble obelisk, twenty-five feet high, carved with flowers and runes. It held magic which enabled the names of the fallen to be seen at any time of day in lovely flowing script, circling the base of the statue. Harry's eyes had traveled the names, stopping briefly on those he knew personally, like Ted Tonks, Remus Lupin, Nymphadora Tonks, Fred Weasley, Colin Creevey, Rufus Scrimgeour, Charity Burbage. Higher up on the dusk side of the monument lay the names of the fallen starting with Dumbledore's death and going backwards to the end of the first war. The list of names began with his parents, Lily and James Potter and ended with his mentor, Albus Dumbledore. In the middle were others he knew, most notably, his godfather, Sirius Black. The dawn side of the monument held those names of the fallen from the first war, including the original owner of his 17th birthday present and his twin, Fabian and Gideon Prewett.

The back of the monument held three quotes, “ _We must all face the choice between what is right and what is easy,_ ” and “ _It is not our abilities that show what we truly are.  It is our choices,_ ” and finally, “ _Happiness can be found even in the darkest of times, when one only remembers to turn on the light._ ”

The monument seemed to bring comfort to many but Harry disliked it. It seemed to dwell on the deaths and thus the losses rather than the victory. Not that he was feeling terribly victorious himself, but he assumed it would come. Plus, he felt its location, at Hogwarts, a _school_ , was highly inappropriate. In his opinion it should have been in Hogsmeade if they wanted it near the Final Battle site or perhaps in Diagon Alley, if not. But he wasn't consulted by those who planned the memorial and by the time he was asked his opinion (at the memorial service) he just lied about it since it was too late to change anything and there was no need to make waves.

But now the funerals were over and the mass memorial service was over and Harry was once more alone in his home at Grimmauld Place, but for his elf, and while during the day he could keep occupied and his mind busy with tasks that did not allow him to dwell or brood, once night fell and he was in bed asleep, his dreams were filled with memories. Yes, sometimes memories of the Battle – the corpses lined in the Great Hall or the Snape's eyes at the last light in them died – or occasionally it was his old standards of the graveyard or the Department of Mysteries or the Astronomy Tower – seeing Cedric, Sirius, or Dumbledore die.

But most of the time, and for most of the four nights since the Final Battle, in his dreams he relived the final walk into the Forbidden Forest surrounded by his dead loved ones, courtesy of the Resurrection Stone and watching the green light speed towards him as Hagrid yelled and he allowed it to come and then his mind would spend time revisiting the white, empty King's Cross station, and these times, in his dreams, in his nightmares, it was always empty. No wise old Albus Dumbledore came striding through the mists, not even a creepy infant like soul fragment of Tom Riddle lay under a bench. Harry was alone, wandering through the limbo, searching for answers, for meaning, for a reason to return _this_ time. There was no more battle to be fought, no more monster to defeat, no more lives to save. Just a lonely existence having come back from the grave. No one understood, no one could. He was alone and had no reason to leave the utter peacefulness of the railway station and yet, every morning his body would wake and his mind would leave that peace and descend once more into the chaos of _living_ and _breathing_ and _mourning_ the losses and _celebrating_ the victory over the Dark.

Harry went through the motions and did as was expected, he cried at the funerals and stood tall at the memorial. He held his friends in their grief and held his head up for pictures. But Harry felt disconnected, as if he no longer belonged there, no longer had a place among the living. He felt his name should be on that marble obelisk on Hogwart's grounds. But it wasn't. He was alive. He had fulfilled his destiny and now needed to find a new purpose.

– – –

As the sun rose over London, the young man in the bed slowly woke, his eyes blinking open and sighing as he took in the canopy above his head. After a few minutes, his biological urges got him out of bed and into the bathroom. After his morning ablutions were done, Harry returned to his room to dress before going to the kitchen for his morning breakfast, prepared beautifully by Kreacher.

It was a delicious full English breakfast of eggs, bacon, toast with four different types of jam, hash browns, black pudding, grilled tomatoes, sauteed mushrooms, and kippers. A large pot of strong black tea with plenty of sugar and milk on hand lay on the table as well. Harry mechanically made his way through the delicious food, tasting it and enjoying it yet still feeling disconnected from the whole thing. Harry felt full as he completed his repast, knowing the only reason he was able to eat so much after his last year on the run with questionable and often sparse meals, was due to the potions regimen he was put on after the Final Battle. It was helping to settle his stomach and return his body to a more healthy state.

As Harry finished his final mouthful and sat back in his chair sipping the remains of his tea, the doorbell rang, a much softer bell-like tone than the harsh one of his fifth year. Also, due to Walburga's portrait being moved the sound was no longer accompanied by insane screeching.

Harry stood and made his way to the drawing room knowing that is where Kreacher would take whoever was at the door. He sat down in one of the wing chairs, its dark green leather seat cradling his still sore body in the comfort of its cushioning spells, renewed often by Kreacher for his master's health. When the door opened and the visitor was revealed, Harry subdued his automatic reaction. Even though he had seen her death and it was not the first time he had met the witch in the doorway, no matter how many times he saw Andromeda Tonks, his first thought was always “Bellatrix!” and to reach for his wand.

Harry rose to his feet as she entered the room, its bright sunlit interior showing up the differences between the sisters, primary of them being the bundle in her arms, a tuft of bright blue sticking from it. “Mrs Tonks, welcome to my home,” said Harry.

“Andromeda, please, Mr Potter.”

“Harry.”

“Harry then,” she extended her hand to him after placing the bundle in her arms on a nearby loveseat. Harry glanced at the bundle and smiled lightly as he took the older witches' hand and bowed over it. After all of the social interactions at the funerals and the memorial, he had learned that was the appropriate move when you considered their respective ages, stations and relationship to each other. Andromeda smiled briefly at his acknowledgment before taking a seat in one of the other wing chairs not even glancing at the bundle of blankets and what was inside them that she had laid on the love seat.

Harry frowned briefly at that and rather than re-taking his former seat in the other chair, he sat carefully on the second unoccupied cushion on the love seat, keeping an eye on the tiny bundle that lay there, a hand ready to catch it if it moved or rolled to the edge.

Andromeda simply shifted in her seat so she was facing her host. “You have certainly made this house your own, Harry. I remember coming here to visit my cousins as a child and all of the artifacts everywhere. And now, so clutter free. I remember having tea in this room with Aunt Walburga and Uncle Orion. We would have to be on our best behavior. Once, when I was around fourth year, Sirius was here, he hadn't started Hogwarts yet and he was fighting with Cissa about something and he deliberately spilled his tea on her robes. Aunt Walburga was so angry, she hit him with a curse right there. And later she had Kreacher hit him with a whip. It was spelled to leave deep gashes that wouldn't start to heal for a week. He had to take blood replenishers several times a day to keep from dying of blood loss.”

She shook her head, “He never learned. Sirius was always rebelling and causing problems in front of his parents. Or in front of mine, although my parents would usually just freeze him in place and allow his parents to deal with him later. They couldn't be bothered with him. He always said I was an inspiration for him. I was older than him and he saw how I ran from the marriage my parents had arranged for me. I was supposed to be the one to marry Rodolphus Lestrange. But I hated him and had no interest in him. Mind you, I still would have done as I was told. That is something that Sirius didn't understand. I didn't run because I did not want to marry him, I ran because if I had stayed and they had found out what had happened, they would have killed me. Dis-ownment was better than death. Much less permanent for me.”

Harry's frown had deepened and he was shifting in his seat, highly uncomfortable at the subjects of this conversation that Andromeda had started. He couldn't understand her reasonings for bringing any of this up. “What had happened?” he queried, his unquenchable curiosity overcoming his discomfort.

“Oh,” she cocked her head. “I don't know why I was thinking you would know. You are just so … well … you know things lots don't like about the Dark Lord and I just got used to thinking you knew things others didn't. Only two people knew and the other is dead and you were dead, so … but I guess you don't know.”

“I was in Slytherin, you know. And this was during the rise of the Dark Lord, he was gaining followers and his reign of terror was ramping up. It was no where near as bad as it would become later, in the late 1970s or early 1980s but things were happening. It was a Hogsmeade weekend but I was supposed to be in detention so I couldn't go, only, you see, Professor Slughorn had a conflict of scheduling and I was a Black, so I was potentially useful in the future and he decided to let me go early. Professor McGonagall had assigned the detention though and I knew if she saw me in the village, I would get in more trouble even though I had permission from my Head of House. So, I slipped into Professor Slughorn's potion stores before I left. It was easy. He was very distracted and my detention had been in the potion's ingredients cupboard next door. I grabbed a vial of Polyjuice that he had talked about in class, he had made an entire cauldron full of the stuff and I know several others who had managed to swipe some under his nose for various purposes, some fairly innocent, others, not so much.”

“Regardless, of that, I took some and then went to the library and relieved a girl studying there of a strand of hair by running into her in the stacks. She was a fifth year Ravenclaw who decided to study for OWLs rather than go to the village. I was a seventh year. I didn't know her at all. I didn't realize she was a muggleborn.” Andromeda frowned. “I wasn't terribly popular, I wasn't a prefect or anything, I was fairly sheltered. I should have been more careful whose hair I chose.”

Andromeda shook her head, “I transformed into the girl in an unused bathroom and charmed my robes to be Ravenclaw colors and went to the village. There was enough potion for me to stay for three hours as long as I remembered to take it on time. I was there for about an hour, still potioned, I had ducked down between two buildings to take my second dose and I had done so, when a group of Death Eaters appeared in the alleyway where I was. I think they may have been Hogwarts students because a couple of them recognized me, or rather, her, the Ravenclaw mud - muggleborn, and before I knew it I was disarmed, silenced, and frozen. They took me down the alley and carried me into a house away from the center of town where most of the students stayed to shop and eat. There were four of them. They never removed their masks and to this day I have no idea who they were. I didn't recognize their voices. They spelled my robes off and vanished them and used binding spells to tie me up and they took turns for nearly the next hour raping me. When they were done they just undid the bindings and left, spitting on me and laughing.”

“Eventually I made my way back to the castle, sneaking and cautious, in robes I found laying around the basement of the house. I tried to put it out of my mind, glad that the contract to marry Rodolphus didn't have a virginity clause. But then, a little over a month later, I found out I was pregnant. That was a deal breaker and my parents would have killed me rather than having the dishonor of having a whore for a daughter. I was so upset and crying and Ted Tonks, the seventh year prefect for Hufflepuff found me. He was a good man, solid and loyal, a true Hufflepuff. He got the story out of me and the consequences I had just discovered and offered himself up. It was nearly the end of the school year and he offered to run away with me and marry me and take care of the baby when it was born. He would raise it as his own. I was in shock and it took him the entire week left before the train to convince me to let him help me.”

“So, when the train arrived in London, I was again in disguise, though glamors this time, and we just left together and ran away and married. He was such a good man, Ted. So very good, to give up the chance to marry someone he loved to save me. We did come to love one another deeply before too long had passed. I felt so guilty for taking advantage of his good nature. After Nymphadora was born I began taking mild love potions. He never knew of course, it would have hurt him deeply. I never gave any to him, mind you. I had already taken so much of his freedom, I wouldn't take more. I would have liked to have had Ted's baby but after we married, one day in Diagon Alley, he was hit with several curses, he never knew who did it but we suspect my father or uncle or another Black. Anyway, they essentially castrated him. After a while and many treatments he could have sex but he never ejaculated again after that. He told me he didn't mind, he loved me.”

“And he loved Dora. She was such a happy baby, and so bright and shiny, and he took care of her so well. I wasn’t able to even look at her for months unless he was holding her. But she seemed to know that I cared and what I needed her to be. She never cried when I was around and only fussed when she needed feeding or changing. She was always laughing and smiling. Ted would swing her around and each time they turned, her hair would be a different color. He loved playing with her. I was always rather removed from that. I wasn't raised to be so hands-on with a child. But we didn't have house elves, Ted and I, so I learned to take care of the house and he took care of the baby. It worked wonderfully.”

“But I don't take care of babies. Babies should be taken care of by others and brought out to show off. I'm not a muggle. And it cries. All the time. Dora was so happy. It isn't. It screams and cries. I can't take it anymore. You take care of it. Or give it to someone. I don't care. You're its godfather. Do what you think is best. You have a house elf. You can raise it the right way. I can't.”

And with those words, Andromeda smiled at him a bit vacantly, rose, and turned on her heel leaving the room and the house, Harry gaping, his mouth dropped open behind her. The slam of the front door caused the small bundle laying next to him to emit loud noises, crying and screaming. Harry shook his head, closed his mouth and picked up the bundle, unwrapping it and looking down into the crying eyes of his godson, one-month-old Edward Remus Lupin, who everyone was already referring to as Teddy. As he watched, the eyes dried at the new person who held him and their brown shade brightened to a green, highly reminiscent of the man in whose arms he resided.

Harry stared at the baby in his arms and smiled sadly. “Well, Teddy, it seems your grandmother has gone a bit barmy. Though from the way she was talking she was _always_ a nutter. Unfortunately, that seems to be genetic, young Teddy. Her one sister was certifiable and her Aunt Walburga was so far gone that her portrait is even a menace.”

As Teddy fussed a little, Harry jiggled him in his arms as he continued talking in a soft, soothing tone, “And her cousin, Sirius, my godfather, well, he wasn't exactly what you would call stable. But I'm not sure how much of that was dementors, how much was spending so much time as a dog, how much was being stuck on the run or in this house, and how much was just him. It doesn’t matter. I still loved him. I still do even though he's been gone for a couple of years now. I'll teach you all about him, Teddy, and about your parents, too. They were very good people, don't let anyone tell you different. We'll get through this, kiddo, you and me. And your grandmother was right, I _do_ have an elf. His name is Kreacher but I won't just pawn you off on him.”

Teddy began fussing again, letting out weak cries. Harry gazed down at him and called out, “Kreacher!”

The house elf popped into existence nearby and looked at the strange sight before him. “Yes, Master Harry?”

“This is my godson, Kreacher, Edward Lupin. We'll call him Teddy for now. His mother was Nymphadora Lupin nee Tonks and his grandmother is Andromeda Tonks nee Black. His mother died and his grandmother is – unable to care for him so she brought him to me. I need you to prepare a baby bottle for him and while I feed him, prepare a room as a nursery. Make sure it is near to my own room so that I can care for him in the night if he needs me. Also, take money from the household funds and buy appropriate baby things. He'll need more bottles and nappies and clothes and furniture. Be sure you get a cradle thing for my room. Teddy is only a month old and I don't think he's ready to be alone in the nursery all night, no matter how close it is to my room.”

“I can take care of the young Black, master Harry.” He stared at the darkening hair on the baby, as it shifted slowly from its previous turquoise to dark black. The elf knew what this meant. “Young master Teddy is a powerful young master metamorph. A true Black, he is. Kreacher can care for him, yes. Kreacher can care for him in the night, Master Harry.”

Harry smiled at the elderly elf. “Young master Teddy is a Lupin, Kreacher, though he has Black blood. And I am sure I will be using your help in caring for him. I don't know much about babies. But I'm not just shoving his entire care onto you. You have many duties and I want to care for him myself,” Harry told him as Teddy's crying increased in volume. “Now please make up a bottle.”

Kreacher bowed and popped from the room as Harry rose and paced the floor, jiggling the baby in his arms, trying to soothe him like he'd seen on Dudley's telly in the kitchen as he made dinner. It worked slightly as the babe's crying slowed down though it did not stop. As Kreacher popped back in with a baby bottle filled with milk, Harry sat in his favorite wing chair and eased the nipple into Teddy's mouth. The young boy latched on with enthusiasm and began drinking in earnest. Harry looked to Kreacher, “Please bring me a towel and get moving on the shopping. I expect we'll need nappies soon and wipes and what have you and his grandmother didn't give me any.”

Kreacher bowed, “Yes, Master Harry.” He snapped his fingers and a towel appeared, emblazoned with the Black crest. He handed it to his master and bowed again before popping from the room.

Harry looked down at the child in his arms, drinking from the bottle like he had never tasted something so good and wondered how often he had been fed since his parents' deaths four days prior. Harry knew the pains hunger brought and vowed that Teddy never would again, not to the extent that he recently seemed to have. But he would not have his godson turn into an endless stomach like Ron, either. Or worse yet, Dudley or Vernon. Granted, Dudley had improved after being forced to diet and then joining the boxing team, but his childhood and early adolescence form was frightful.

Harry held Teddy close as he vowed silently to care for the child and make sure he had a wonderful childhood but not a spoiled one. Harry knew it was a line to walk and he would attempt to stay on the straight and narrow and raise his godson to be the good man that his parents would have wanted him to be. He wanted Remus and Tonks to be proud of their son and of Harry himself for the job he would do, raising him.

Harry knew he would need help, and not just from Kreacher. He would need to ask Molly Weasley for knowledge, though he refused to consider pawning Teddy off on the mother of seven, (he winced internally, six now), any more than he would pass him off to Kreacher as Andromeda seemed to think should happen, especially after hearing her story about Sirius' punishment at the elf's hands. He knew intellectually the elf had been under orders and it was essentially Walburga and Orion who had wielded the whip, but emotionally Harry needed to get his distance from the hearing of the history in order to be sure he did not blame the elf. But at least he could better understand Sirius' hatred of the house elf he owned, the elf who had tortured him at his own parents' orders. As he mused on the subject, Harry wondered if the reason for many pure-bloods' abusive nature towards their elves was due to similar, though perhaps not as extreme, reasons.

It was certainly possible. Granted, Dobby had not been old enough to have hurt Lucius Malfoy in any way as a child but that didn't mean another house elf had not done so. He could see Malfoy spreading the hatred from the one elf who had hypothetically hurt him to all elves under his control. Of course, this was all speculation and Harry would never know. It wasn't like he could ask nor would he be answered if he was so crass as to do so.

Harry could understand that attitude and would make sure that Teddy knew that not every member of a species or race or Hogwarts House or even family, was the same. There were good and bad everywhere and people could change, witness Percy Weasley or Peter Pettigrew.

As Teddy's frantic sucking slowed as he neared his limits for food, Harry thought about his own childhood and how he went through a period of time where he hated all muggles. Of course, he didn't know that term then, he was only about six, maybe five years old. It was certainly many years before he would learn about wizards and magic.

Harry had just begun proper school, not pre-school where only Dudley was allowed to go but real school where all children had to attend. Harry remembered how much he was looking forward to seeing something other than Privet Drive or Magnolia Crescent where Mrs Figg lived. He had such high hopes that he would meet children who would be his friends and play with him like Dudley always go to do.

In retrospect much of his early school years blurred together with a few highly memorable moments but his very first two days of school were almost highlighted in his mind. He could still recall then almost completely as if they had occurred yesterday though in reality it had been over a dozen years.

The first morning was all about testing to get children into the correct classes and with the right peers. Harry remembered how easy it all was. He had long ago taught himself to read thanks to the chores his Aunt Petunia set him to, largely the kitchen chores, like cooking. He taught himself to read the labels on the cans and then the recipes in the cookbooks that his aunt used to make dinner. She had begun his cooking chores at age three, almost four and he learned quickly or got a belt around the head with a pan or a spoon or rarely just a damp kitchen towel. Over the years he learned to dodge quite well, good practice for Quidditch and bludgers.

He had learned math in a similar manner because any baking done needed to be doubled or tripled due to the appetites of the Dursley males. So he even learned fractions when learning how to triple a recipe that called for three-quarters of a cup or doubling a recipe that needed half a teaspoon. Aunt Petunia never realized what she was teaching him, she just was happy when he did not make a mistake that wasted ingredients.

That first morning and the placement tests were brilliant. He raced through them, answering the simple questions with ease, while his cousin struggled to do the simplest of them. Unfortunately, the test was written one, not an oral exam by a teacher or teacher's aide. Harry always wondered how things would have been different if he had been examined by an actual person one-on-one that day.

As it was, he finished the placement test before lunch and went out with the other children to the playground for an afternoon of physical activity hoping to meet some nice kids and make friends only to discover that Dudley knew many of them from pre-school and had told them that Harry was a freak and had cooties and if they went near him or were nice to him they would catch his freakishness. He spent the afternoon being hit with balls and chased around the playground by boys who would hit him or pinch him when they caught him, the determiner for which it was based on whether one of the teachers was looking.

Harry later learned that while the young children were outside the teachers were grading the placement tests so that they could send home the correct paperwork with each child at the end of the day. Placement in lower classes was automatic as was anyone in an average class but advanced placement required parental (or in Harry's case, guardian) permission.

When the end of the day neared, Harry gladly returned to the classroom, happy to escape the torment of outside. He collected his bag (a grocery sack that was falling apart) and his paperwork and walked home while Dudley went with his friend Piers and got a ride. They stopped for ice cream to celebrate their first day of real school so Harry beat Dudley home. Petunia took his paperwork from him and sent him to the yard to do chores. When Dudley returned home with his paperwork, Petunia compared the results. Dudley was sent to his room to play and Harry was called in and locked in his cupboard.

Vernon arrived home a few hours later and Harry recalled hearing a harsh argument between he and Aunt Petunia. The door to the kitchen was closed and through the cupboard door he could only hear exceptionally loud words until the cupboard door was flung open and Uncle Vernon dragged him out by his neck. He proceeded to push Harry into the basement, nearly tossing him the last several steps.

Harry already knew at that age what a trip to the basement meant. The basement was where his punishments that were held that the neighbors couldn't see. Normal transgressions like dropping a plate or looking defiant were punished with time in the cupboard, no meals, and extra chores. The basement was for serious punishment for things like freaky occurences. But even as he was dragged to the hook on the wall, Harry hadn't been able to recall any specifically weird things happening lately.

Uncle Vernon pushed him against the back wall and Harry knew what to do. He stripped his shirt and trousers off and laid them on a nearby chair. Uncle Vernon took his hands and wrapped them in a rope and tied a knot and then threaded the rope through a loop that was on a hook on the wall. Facing the wall, Harry recalled waiting, wondering what freaky thing had happened to bring this punishment on him tonight.

Uncle Vernon took off his belt, the one with the fancy scroll-work on the buckle and proceeded to whip Harry's back and legs with the buckle end until he started to bleed. When there were several bleeding stripes on his back, the man picked up a bucket that was kept there and poured it down Harry's back. It was filled with salt water.

After Harry woke from his faint at the pain, he recalled that he still didn't know what had happened. He waited for Uncle Vernon to let him down now but the respite while waiting for his nephew to revive had allowed him to regain energy and for the first time he began to whip Harry again, after the water had been applied. Harry whimpered and writhed under the renewed assault, wanting to scream but knowing better. Making such a loud noise would surely draw the attention of the neighbors and that would bring a worse punishment than the one he was enduring at that moment.

After becoming winded once more, Vernon again poured salt water over the bleeding wounds on his nephew, from the bucket he had refilled from the tap on the other wall and the bag of salt kept in the basement for this very purpose. Again Harry passed out from the pain and again this gave Vernon time to recover his strength. The torture continued for a total of five rounds that night before Vernon was at last too tired to continue.

After the final whipping Harry was left hanging against the wall, having long lost the ability to stand up, for three more hours, alone in the basement. Vernon would return every hour and pour more salt water on his back and then leave.

Finally, at bedtime for the Dursley adults, Vernon released Harry from his restraints and when he turned around he punched him once, hard, in the stomach. As Harry lay gasping on the ground, Vernon finally spoke, “I don't know what freakishness you did to make Dudley do so badly on his exams while you did so well, but you cheated somehow. You will not be going into some advanced class and your aunt will make sure the school knows what a cheater you are.”

With that, Vernon pulled Harry to his feet and with a hand once again around the nape of his neck, he pushed him up the stairs and towards his cupboard, where he proceeded to throw him in, making sure to angle it so he landed on his lacerated back. “One more thing, boy. If you ever try to show your cousin up in school by being freaky and doing better than him, your punishment tonight will seem like a vacation, I promise you that. There is no way you could outperform my boy without using your freaky stuff, boy, so you better not try.”

Harry spent the night in his cupboard in pain and agony but by morning, just like always, his wounds were gone, at least on the surface. He ached deep under his skin but the visible marks had sealed and disappeared. Harry hadn't even realized this was unusual since it always happened. But this was his magic, reacting to help him.

His first day of school when they took the placement tests had been a Friday, oddly enough and by the time Monday came, Harry was dreading school. He had spent the entire weekend without food and doing chores, mostly yard work but also cleaning the kitchen and bathroom, as well as laundry on Sunday. His body still ached deep inside from Friday night's torture and Dudley made sure to shove him around whenever they crossed paths.

Aunt Petunia drove Dudley to school and remained to talk to the teacher while Harry walked there. He was limping because Dudley had shoved him on their way out the door and he had landed badly as he came down the step.

Harry's second day of school was universally miserable. While his first day had been split between good and bad, his second day was just all around bad. During class time his teacher either ignored him, glared at him or punished him for things Dudley (who sat behind him) did. During lunch and playground time, he was again chased by other students, mostly Dudley and his friends, but other as well who wanted to prove that they weren't freaks.

Over time, Harry simply stopped trying in school but the damage had been done. Vernon had discovered that longer punishments were more pleasing for himself and Dudley had learned that Harry would be punished for making him look bad.

Over the next year, Harry's time in the basement went from once every couple of months before he started school to at least once a week after his first day of school. Dudley would lie about his actions while at school to the teachers and after he came home to his parents and Harry would be punished.

By the end of his second year of school, Harry was in the basement being whipped two, three, or even four nights a week. After a particularly bad week when Dudley had failed three tests and told his parents that Harry had changed his answers, Harry was in the basement every night for two weeks, including the weekend, and each session lasted eight or nine rounds, as Vernon had improved his stamina with these workouts.

Harry's will finally broke after this fortnight of torture and he approached a few adults with his tale of woe, one of his teachers was the first he tried, only to find that his aunt had told them he was a habitual liar. He next tried the school nurse, only to discover the teacher had gotten to her first and she gave him a detention for his lies about his upstanding family. Finally, he had approached a neighbor, but again, his relatives were believed and he was called a delinquent, blamed for his cousin's actions. After each adult had told his aunt what he said, he spent another fortnight in the basement, not even taken down to go to his cupboard to sleep, simply chained to the wall, unconscious.

After that, Harry never told anyone again and truly started to hate everyone at school and in the neighborhood. Harry could recall hanging in the basement and constructing elaborate fantasies in his head of how he would hurt them all like he was being hurt. But everything changed after a visit to Mrs Figg's house the next time the Dursleys were leaving for a day trip with Dudley.

It wasn't anything the elderly squib did, though of course he didn't know then she was such a thing. She treated him horribly, though not on the level of his relatives. She was boring and a bit mean so he would not like her house. She asked him to clean some leaves in her yard and while there, one of her cats had come up to him and had purred at him and rubbed against him and wouldn't leave him alone until he sat down and pet it.

Harry knew now that the cat was a kneazle who could sense his internal conflict and was trying to help calm him. The cat's magic worked and the dark thoughts receded for several days, until he was again in the basement for an imagined infraction as per Dudley's report. Again, the dark thoughts and wishes surged inside him and he plotted murders. But the next day, while in the yard, doing his chores, that cat came to him and when he was behind the shed, prodded at him until he sat down and pet her. From then on, after every trip to the basement, that cat of Mrs Figg would come to him and help heal his soul. Though he still spent an inordinate amount of time in the basement being tortured by his uncle, he learned to channel the calm the cat gave him without it being there and by the time he turned eight the plots and plans of murder and torture on his relatives and the other people he knew who left him here to be hurt were fully pushed away and never returned.

Harry's internal musing on his memories of his pre-Hogwarts days were interrupted by Teddy as the baby pulled his mouth from the bottle. Harry knew enough to know what he had to do now. He took the towel and put in on his shoulder, having seen slapstick results in various things on the telly when babies were burped without one, and eased the tiny child upright, making sure his face wasn't smushed against the towel and he proceeded to gently pat Teddy's back until the tiny child let out a loud burp and indeed spit up on the towel.

“Well done, kiddo,” he told Teddy. “Think you maybe have another one in there or are you done?” The baby gurgled at him as he used the towel to wipe his face of the spit up milk. “Well, we'll give it a try, huh? Better out than in. You don't want to have gas, Teddy. And I don't want to have to deal with an unhappy, gassy godson, either.” Harry smiled at the boy on his shoulder, alternately patting and rubbing the tiny little back. After a few more minutes, Teddy did indeed let out another burp though this one wasn't nearly as loud as the previous one and was not accompanied by any regurgitated milk.

Harry took the towel off of his shoulder and as his arms were getting a bit tired he carried Teddy over to the love seat. He laid him down and sat on the floor next to his cushion. He though Teddy was too young to roll himself off, but he wasn't sure, so he sat where if his godson decided to roll off the cushion, he would roll into Harry.

Harry simply smiled at his godson as he lay there waving his arms around and cooing to himself. He opened his mouth and began to talk in a quiet voice to the baby, “Its going to be you and me, together, Teddy, just you and me. We'll have other people around, I'm not going to be a hermit, don't get me wrong, kiddo, but no one who would be above you. You are the most important thing to me. I don't know what I'm going to do with my life, for days now I haven't really felt alive, not really, I know I've been so lost since I fulfilled the prophecy and was wondering what my purpose in life was now. And then your grandmother brought you here. You're my purpose Ted. I'm going to raise you to be a good man and give you as close to perfect of a childhood as I can. I already love you. It's weird. I've never really known what to do with love. I certainly didn't grow up with it. I loved my parents and godfather. I suppose I love my friends in a way. I don't think I ever loved Cho. And obsessed over her but I'm not sure that what I felt for Ginny was love. I mean, it was jealousy, yeah, and obsession, yeah, but love, I don't know. But I _know_ that what is happening to me _right_ _now_ is love. I will love you and protect you all your life Teddy, I promise.”

The baby gurgled at him, his eyes turning an even deeper green. “I haven't had the best role models for parenting behavior Teddy but I'll do my best. At the least, I have some models of what not to do. What are the models, you say, my godson? Well, first, my parents. I love them or well, at least, more the idea of them in the abstract, I suppose, since I lost them when I was so young. And they loved me. They died for me, Teddy. Directly. Not like yours who died in the war fighting for good but for me specifically. My father tried to keep Voldemort away from Mom and I even though his wand was across the room. And my mom, she tried to get between Voldemort and I even more directly, and again, without her wand. Dumbledore said that sacrifice, her love for me, to die for me, was what saved me and destroyed Voldemort's body. I still don't quite know if I buy into that. I mean, how many mothers or fathers or others die for their kids? But I'm the only one who survived the killing curse. Maybe it was something else my mom did, some ritual or something she had prepared, maybe it was just the prophecy. He needed to mark his equal and then I was only a baby and I couldn't be super baby and be his equal then so he was made as powerless as I was at fifteen months old and as I got more powerful and learned more about magic, he slowly returned to his power. I don't know. What's that? Oh, yes, I have had a lot of time to think about this. This past year, camping in the woods, not much to do except think.”

“Anyway, Teddy, my man, I'm very thankful my parents loved me enough to die for me but frankly, I really would have preferred they live for me. I get the idea behind changing the secret keeper to Wormtail instead of Sirius, but why not make Dumbledore the secret keeper? Or better yet, make it Dad or Mom themselves. I mean, Mr Weasley was the secret keeper for the Burrow during the war and Bill was for Shell Cottage and they lived there at the time. And of course, they stayed in Britain. I mean, I highly doubt Voldemort would have come after them if they went to, I don't know, Australia or something, or even stayed in Britain but went mostly or even completely muggle. Mom was muggleborn, she could have taught Dad to fit in. Anyway, that is one example I won't live up to. If there is another war, Teddy, I won't let you get caught in the middle. If someone is after you specifically, we'll disappear totally. If it is just a general war, I'll stay out of it.”

Harry cocked his head to the side. “Huh, I guess that means I definitely won't be an auror. Don't worry about it, Teddy. The idea kind of lost its allure along the line. I don't really fancy working for the Ministry of Magic, anyway. There is too much corruption. And even with a good minister the corruption is almost inherent. So, no Auror Potter in the future.”

Teddy waved his arms and blew bubbles. “Oh, another bad role model, young man? Well, after my parents, next would be the Dursleys. I will never, ever, ever, do anything to you that they did to me. They hurt me in so many ways, Teddy. Not just physically, either. I knew nothing of love in that house. Just anger and hatred. Until the end. Dudley may actually be redeemable, but then he was only a child reacting to how he was raised. Aunt Petunia did love him. But she overcompensated and spoiled him absolutely rotten. Really, Teddy, rotten. He was a rotten little boy and I think if the dementors hadn't come after us, he would have ended up in jail. He was working hard toward being a juvenile delinquent, that's for sure, but the dementors really gave him a wake up call. People can change as they grow up, Teddy, remember that. Anyone can change. Anyway, kiddo, I won't hurt you and I will try my best not to spoil you, either. You'll have what you need and some of what you want but you will have limits and rules and defined punishments for breaking them. But it will never be hits or curses or hexes or with-holding food. The most will be a swat to the bottom, I think, and even that is a maybe.”

“And moving on, we have Albus Dumbledore. I think he cared about me. He said he did. Sometimes he acted like he did. But he was so big picture and his own baggage from his own childhood really informed his treatment of me. Aberforth said that Albus was always good at keeping secrets, he learned at their mother's knee. And frankly, he kept too many for too long. I really feel manipulated by him. And I don't like it. I won't ever forget you are a child, Teddy, but I won't forget you have a mind and ideas and beliefs and thoughts and _feelings,_ too. I won't let any big picture make me lose sight of you as a person in your own right.” Teddy cooed. “Nope, not even if someone sherry swilling seer makes a prophecy about you.”

Harry smiles down at the baby on his cushion. “Next would be Sirius, I suppose. I loved him. I didn't get to spend a lot of time with him overall but I know he loved me. Again, he died for me. Not as directly as Mom and Dad, but he was there dueling Bellatrix because he came to save me. So, that reiterates that lesson to avoid. Don't die!”

Harry chuckled lightly. “Good lesson overall, my godson. But Sirius was also a hothead. He spent over a decade wrongfully imprisoned on Azkaban because of it. He went after Wormtail. He had a responsibility to me as my godfather and I was a helpless 15-month-old and he abrogated that responsibility and left me with Hagrid. Hagrid! Okay, yeah, I love the big guy but he doesn't even have a wand! If we were attacked by Death Eaters, what could he have done. It isn't like when we left Privet Drive last year. I couldn't exactly have helped him curse them. And that battle showed the problem. When he tried to use magic, he nearly killed me when it broke the sidecar instead of fixing it. And Sirius just didn't think and left me with him and ran off after his former friend, leading me to over a decade of residence in the cupboard under the stairs.”

“So, the lesson, Teddy. Again, you come first. Control my temper, control my 'saving people thing' and put your needs first. Your needs as determined by me, your godfather, not by someone else like Dumbledore or Hagrid. Yes, Teddy, I know Dumbledore is dead but I meant someone powerful or seemingly all knowing like him. Even here at Grimmauld Place, Sirius let someone else determine what I should know rather than decide for himself as my godfather. And he broke out of prison, not to care for me, but to take revenge on Wormtail. I loved Sirius, but he never really put me first until the end and then he didn't take it seriously which cost him his life.”

Harry smiled wryly and sighed. “Okay, lets move on before I start getting too worked up, huh? I suppose another role model is the Weasleys. Now, they are great people and I love Molly and Arthur but their parenting is a little off, I think. I mean, Arthur really is permissive and Molly is the opposite. Their two eldest took jobs as far away as they could out of the country for quite a while, Percy abandoned the family because he felt ashamed of them and their poverty, Molly always put the twins down, and Ron's jealousy issues, well, they stem from somewhere. I suspect Molly always compared him to his siblings. Not good thing to do. So I will not be too permissive not too strict and I won't compare you unfavorably to anyone. You are you and that is exactly who you should be.”

“And I guess the last bad example is your grandmother, Andromeda. I think she has serious mental issues that have never been addressed and maybe addicted to love potions the object of which is now dead. So, the lesson, other than don't take potions except when absolutely necessary? I will never abandon you. I will always be there and you can always count on me.”

Teddy kicked his legs and whined. Harry leaned over and kissed his forehead. “I love you, Edward Remus Lupin. You are my godson and my responsibility. I promise you will have a happy and loving childhood, with lots of friends around you and plenty of support in whatever you do. I vow to you, you will be not like me.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks again to Keira Marcos and the Rough Trade Group. And thanks to all who read my stories and enjoy them!


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